


I am usually better when I lie

by Ischa



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, incest (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene snippet-thingy from A Scandal in Belgravia. </p><p>  <i> Mycroft looks up at the sky. Rain and more rain and more rain and nearly calls his driver to pick him up, instead he risks a glance up and nearly takes a step back as he sees Sherlock standing at the window. He doesn't, it would show weakness.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I am usually better when I lie

**Pairing:** Sherlock/Mycroft  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Missing scene snippte-thingy from A Scandal in Belgravia.  
 _Mycroft looks up at the sky. Rain and more rain and more rain and nearly calls his driver to pick him up, instead he risks a glance up and nearly takes a step back as he sees Sherlock standing at the window. He doesn't, it would show weakness._  
 **Warning(s):** none, or well...incest (implied)  
 **Author’s Notes:** Written for the three sisters fair (http://carnivors.livejournal.com/16257.html). Quotes: Sherlock. (BBC)  
 **Word Count:** 419  
 **Beta:** asm_z  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real 

\---  
 _Mycroft Holmes: My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?_  
 _John Watson: I don't know._  
 _Mycroft Holmes: Neither do I. But initially, he wanted to be a pirate._

~+~  
And it's the truth, Mycroft thinks as he steps outside of the café. He has no idea what is going on in Sherlock's heart. If he even uses it like other people. His mind, oh his mind is a whole other thing. Constantly buzzing, connecting, dissecting. Putting pieces together, so the puzzle becomes a picture.  
Mycroft looks up at the sky. Rain and more rain and more rain and nearly calls his driver to pick him up, instead he risks a glance up and nearly takes a step back as he sees Sherlock standing at the window. He doesn't, it would show weakness. Something tightens in his guts and he breathes out carefully. He could nod, he could do- something, he doesn't. That's not how they work. They don't care like other people and with Sherlock he doesn't even need to pretend, even if pretending is all that Mycroft seems to do around Sherlock these days. 

~+~  
Mycroft wasn't interested in Sherlock until Sherlock started to talk. Since that day Mycroft knew that Sherlock had a mind that matched his own. He wasn't alone anymore in this sea of ordinary people. Everyone seemed just so slow compared to them.  
When he was younger Mycroft thought that they were alike, that they were one, but he was wrong.  
Sherlock isn't, wasn't like other people, not even like Mycroft. (God knows Sherlock tried for a while there. The drugs just don't work. Never did.)  
He comes close, they come close, but never-. No, he thinks. No. And still Mycroft can't stop caring. He tried and for good reason too, but Sherlock is his blood, his flesh, his family, _his_. 

~+~  
Sherlock puts his fingers to the glass and Mycroft watches. It's a careless, sentimental, unnecessary gesture. Seconds slipping away. He's soaked already and he just can't seem to look away, to care for the world. The rain, the wind, the people that have to go out of their ways, because he's rooted to the spot. Hurrying along. He's counting down. Dr. Watson is on his way up. He'll tell Sherlock a lie about Irene Adler. Mycroft wonders how good Dr. Watson can lie. Not good enough he decides. Sherlock will know. Sherlock always knows. 

~end~


End file.
